


Redemption

by Rovelae



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Future Foundation, Gross misinterpretation of medical procedures for the Aesthetic, HEAVY WHUMP, Hajime has Kamukura's talents but also a personality, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Kokichi-centric, M/M, Mikan went to therapy so she’s less of a mess than in canon, Post-Game, but it was founded by Makoto so it doesn't suck, she doesn’t play much of a role though, virtual reality au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22649779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rovelae/pseuds/Rovelae
Summary: "Kill me,” he choked, the words muffled by the oxygen mask over his mouth. The blurry and faceless monster-doctor-humanoids standing around him didn’t respond. There had to be someone here who wanted him dead as much as he wanted to die; why wouldn’t they just end it?
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 287





	Redemption

“Kill me.”

He couldn’t tell if the face hovering above him understood the rasp of his voice. The stranger’s eyes—one dusky bronze, one blood-red, did they both even belong to him?—flicked toward his own, then back toward whatever he was doing with the heart monitor. No, he’d get no mercy from this man, whether he’d heard him or not.

“Blood pressure’s at 85/59,” the stranger said. “Get the IV started.”

“Please,” he whispered to no one in particular, though his mind belatedly directed it toward Kaito. How long does it take to press a couple of buttons, really? “Please, it hurts.”

But hadn’t the machine already come down on him? He remembered the sick jolt of dread at the feeling of metal against his skin, so cold it burned, a fraction of a second before the first _crack_ and then _everything’s red can’t breathe make it stop makeitstopmakeitstop—_

Something stung on the back of his hand. It didn’t hurt _(at least not the way it did the moment something shuddered and_ popped _in his chest just before everything went dark)_ , but he screamed anyway, lunging at Maki with all the strength he had left, ready to tear her apart with his bare hands if that was what it took, _you did this to me, you monster, you_ animal, _this is_ your fault—

Gloved hands, holding him down. The prick in his hand turned into a weird sensation of spreading coolness under his skin, alien enough to almost distract him from the sizzling agony of the arrow in his back. “Nitrous oxide isn’t doing anything,” said the man with the mismatched eyes, pinning one of his wrists to the pillow with one hand and removing a mask from over his mouth with the other. “Switch to oxygen, I don’t like the look of that heart rate spike. Keiko, get Izumi’s approval for intravenous diazepam.”

“Yes, sir.”

Someone else strapped a different mask to his face before he could think to squirm out of the way. “Oxygen on in one, two—”

_“Three,” Kaito grunted, and ripped the arrow out of his back, and his vision swam with blackness and the searing pain somehow got_ worse—

“Stop it, stop it, just _kill me,”_ he choked, the words muffled by the device over his mouth. The blurry and faceless monster-doctor-humanoids standing around him didn’t respond. There had to be someone here who wanted him dead as much as he wanted to die, why wouldn’t they just _end it—_

_“—Be my friend instead?” He kept a note of obviously-false cheeriness in his tone so Shuichi would understand, because this wasn’t about Kaito, he’d just narrowly escaped being murdered and now Miu was dead and he needed_ help, _for crying out loud, just understand me this once, Shuichi, please—_

_But there was so much fury and unmitigated contempt in his face that he knew Shuichi didn’t want to understand anymore, and when he found out what he’d done he would never forgive him—_

“—Need you to keep breathing, all right?” He was starting to hate this person’s face; he must be one of the people behind all this if he was sadistic enough to keep him alive. “Kokichi? Don’t—”

_“—Die on me,” Kaito panted, stumbling toward the machine. “Just… just a little further, okay?”_

_“Keep squirming if you think that’ll help.” The crossbow and its second arrow were angled at his throat, unwavering. “That’s Strike-9 poison. It’ll kill you nice and slow, just like you deserve.”_

Screaming again, struggling weakly against the doctors holding him down, he clawed at his chest as if he could tear out the poison burning his every nerve—she was right, he deserved every second of this torment, but couldn’t anyone have _mercy_ and just let it end?

_Someone, someone, please—_ Shuichi, _please help me, I’m sorry—_

“Mikan, I need that sedative!”

“B-but—Doctor Izumi said he might have another v-ventricular tachycardic episode if he doesn’t calm down before anesthetic administration—”

“Then put it in the IV as soon as it’s safe.”

“Ah—r-right!”

“Hinata, sir—”

_“Just let me die!”_ he howled, to the doctors, to Kaito, to the red-eyed demon standing over him. _“Somebody, just make it stop!”_

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Please, I—I just want to help.”

“There isn’t much that can be done right now, especially—”

“Kamukura, sir, please—you know I’m the only one who can calm him down.”

“…You need to tell him the truth afterward.”

“I will. I promise.”

“All right.”

Movement from over to his left; his head swiveled toward it automatically, but he choked over a gasp at the sight of the person hurrying toward him, face creased with worry—

_“Shuichi,”_ he breathed, reaching for him with a shaking hand. “Shuichi, _help….”_

It had to be a hallucination, a desperate lie concocted by his tortured brain, Shuichi wouldn’t be here, Shuichi certainly wouldn’t run to his side and—

_Grab his hand_

_Touch his face_

_Whisper his name_

“Oh, Kokichi, I’m so sorry,” Shuichi said, and he couldn’t be real, he couldn’t _possibly—_ “I never wanted you to be hurt like this, I’m _so sorry.”_

Tears stung his eyes, and he clutched weakly at Shuichi’s arm as if he could pull the illusion into reality. “Shuichi… _Shuichi?”_

“I’m here, Kokichi.” Delicate fingers caressed his face, brushing his bangs aside. “Everything’s going to be okay now, I promise.”

“Beloved….” A sob of sheer relief tore itself from his throat. “Y-you’ll … you’ll save me, w-won’t you?”

“Shh, shh, I’m here to help. You’re safe here, okay?” Were those tears shining in his eyes? Impossible, impossible— “You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

“Shuichi, please,” he managed through his own tears. “Please, I-I know—I know it’s more m-mercy than I deserve, but _please let me die, Shuichi—”_

“Please don’t say that, love.” Shuichi pressed their foreheads together with an unexpected intimacy that made his breath catch. “Please don’t give up now. I need you to live—I need you to stay here with me.”

“Please, angel, have _mercy,”_ he cried, gripping Shuichi’s sleeve as tightly as he could; even if he was a hallucination, he was the most real thing in the world right now, and he was and had always been above all a _good person._ Even if Shuichi loathed him, _despised_ him, he wouldn’t stand back and let him suffer. “Please, it hurts, it hurts me so much, I-I can’t….”

He faltered when Shuichi’s arms drew him closer, holding him as best he could without moving him too much. “Let me help,” he murmured, breath soft against his skin. “I’ll make it stop hurting, Kokichi, I promise.”

_And he did._

Shuichi was warm, Shuichi was _safe,_ and he didn’t recoil when Kokichi pulled him closer and sobbed into his shoulder. He just combed his fingers through Kokichi’s hair, whispering more sweet words against his temple, brushing away the tears. Shuichi’s every touch made the poison recede, the broken bones and stab wounds fade out into impossibly blissful numbness. The contrast was _indescribable._ He felt his breathing begin to steady, all the fear and despair draining away and leaving him trembling and exhausted in its wake.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Shuichi, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you—”

“Shh, deep breaths. You don’t need to worry about that right now, okay?”

“N-no! No, I… I-I just wanted you to live and be safe, but I—I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do—”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. It’s all over now. We’re safe, just like you wanted.”

“I… Shuichi, I’m _sorry….”_

“Shh, no more. You don’t need to be scared anymore. I just want you to rest and feel better now.” Shuichi pulled away slightly, but kept one hand on the side of Kokichi’s face. “They’re going to give you something to help you sleep. Please try to rest for me, okay?”

“W-wait….” His hand felt for Shuichi’s and held onto it as tightly as he could. “Don’t leave me, Shuichi, don’t leave, please….”

“Shh, you’re okay.” Shuichi squeezed his hand softly. His thoughts were beginning to cloud over, Shuichi’s face seeming blurry around the edges. “It’s okay, I won’t leave.”

“Please don’t go,” he said again, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Shuichi….”

“I’ll stay right here,” Shuichi said, raising his free hand and gently closing Kokichi’s eyes. “I’ll be here, I promise. Just sleep, my beloved.”

Kokichi woke up.

Unfortunately.

It was different this time, at least. The stabbing pain in his head had faded to a bearable throb, and his limbs felt heavy and weak, no longer crawling with phantom agony from poison or arrows or metal that, apparently, hadn’t actually killed him. An IV needle had been taped into his right hand, and he followed the tubing with his eyes up to the bag of whatever they were giving him while it dripped, dripped, dripped into his veins.

Alive, then.

He turned his gaze to the ceiling _(ceiling,_ made of _plaster_ and not _metal, Kokichi)_ and focused on the way air swirled through his lungs, forcing himself to count to eight on each inhale. He couldn’t afford to panic again; he had to _think,_ had to make sense of _something_ in this world or he’d lose his mind for real.

If he hadn’t already.

Hospital bed. Analog clock on the wall reading 1:37. No pain in his back, none in his arm—not even any bandages, so, probably no wounds at all.

A million questions and no answers.

_But maybe you could help me out._

The only other person in the room was asleep, head resting on his folded arms on the left side of Kokichi’s bed. Strikingly beautiful even with tousled hair and drab hospital clothes, his long eyelashes fanning over ivory skin, he looked every bit the angel that he’d been when he’d rescued the pieces of Kokichi’s mind from the brink of insanity.

_So you didn’t leave after all. That’s…._

Kind. So kind it made his stomach turn. He longed to reach out and brush Shuichi’s hair aside, caress that soft and perfect face, but… that would be selfish, wouldn’t it?

That would prolong this sweet lie far past its prime.

So he waited, breathing deeply and doing his best to repress the flashbacks and intermittently flaring panic, until Shuichi stirred and blinked open his eyes.

There was confusion there, for a moment, then realization, then hesitation, then a gentle smile. “H-hi, Kokichi.”

“Hi,” he managed, and coughed lightly—speaking made his throat feel like he’d swallowed a cactus. “Ow.”

“Do you want some water? You were screaming a lot, your throat must be—”

“I’m okay.”

“I don’t think….” He bit his lip, looking away. “O-okay. If you say so, but….”

“Shuichi?” Kokichi lifted his hand and _Shuichi took it_ in both of his, just the way he’d done earlier, with the same softness in his touch, and Kokichi wanted more than anything for it to be as sincere as it felt.

“I’m here,” Shuichi said. “You’re safe, all right?”

“Seems like.”

“I know everything’s really confusing right now, but—but I’m here to help.” He seemed to realize Kokichi wasn’t as delusional as he’d been before, so the tentative smile returned. “How are you feeling? Um… is that a bad question?”

Kokichi hummed noncommittally and scanned the room again, nodding toward the IV drip. “What are they giving me?”

“It’s for rehydration. You know, water and electrolytes. They said they’d give you food, too, if you were mentally, um … less bad when you woke up.”

“I want it out.”

“Can you bear with it a while longer? It’s really important. One of the previous participants got so dehydrated that her kidneys started to—”

“Previous….”

Shuichi paused. “I guess I’m getting ahead of myself,” he said. “We … we weren’t the first killing game.”

“I know,” Kokichi croaked. “I watched Rantaro’s video.”

“Ah—you did?”

“You know I did. You would have found his lab password in my room.”

“Oh. Um, right. I forgot.”

Kokichi decided to let that one slide. “How many?”

Shuichi squeezed his hand subconsciously. “We were the fifty-third.”

_Oh._

Oh, it was worse than he thought. _That’s horrible. That’s_ revolting.

“There’s a lot that I need to explain,” Shuichi said. “The reason we’re all alive, of course, and why—why we were in the game in the first place, but—”

“Stop. Don’t … I’ll figure all that out later. I just….” He drew in a slow, deep breath. “I need to … process some things before we get into that.”

Shuichi nodded. “Whatever you need. I know it’s a lot to handle.”

He turned his attention back to the IV bag—it was anchoring, somehow, watching the rhythmic fall of each drop. Made the mattress underneath him feel less like metal. Helped him detach himself from the impossibility of his beloved holding his hand, gentle and soft and _not real it’s not real it’s not real—_

“It’s going to be all right,” Shuichi whispered, probably in response to the way Kokichi’s breath hitched and he accidentally gripped Shuichi’s hand tighter. “You can cry if you need to.”

_Not in front of_ you.

“How was the trial?” he asked instead, and felt Shuichi flinch.

“Is… is that where you’d like me to start?” He swallowed. “Well… when the Exisal first walked into the courtroom, we—”

“Not that one. I already know it didn’t work.” His mouth tasted bitter, saying the words out loud, and it was more difficult than he would have liked to admit keeping his expression neutral when he looked back at Shuichi. “The trial for the mastermind. Kaito and I at least helped expose them, right?”

Shuichi looked down at their hands, rubbing a thumb over Kokichi’s knuckles. “I’m … not sure how you figured that out, honestly, but—”

“Shuichi, don’t tell me I got another person killed for nothing.”

“You _didn’t.”_ There was a resolve in his face that convinced him instantly. “Without you, I never— _we_ wouldn’t have been able to find out the truth about the killing game. You helped us end Danganronpa for good, Kokichi.”

It was like a ten-ton hydraulic press had just been taken from off his chest. Kokichi swallowed back the lump in his throat. “That … that had better not be a lie to make me feel better,” he choked.

Shuichi’s fingertips ghosted over his cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “It’s not a lie,” he said. “It’s over. They can’t hurt anyone ever again. I promise.”

_It’s over._

Kokichi could have basked in the celestial glow of Shuichi’s _perfect_ smile forever, if not for the fragment of a lie hidden in those words.

It wasn’t over. The battle, maybe, but there was still a war to be fought.

“Hey,” he began softly.

“Yeah?” Shuichi whispered, so close that Kokichi could smell the sandalwood soap in his hair, could see the faint outline of contact lenses around his irises.

“How about you drop the act already, Shirogane?”

A flicker of … _something_ passed over Shuichi's face.

“I… what? Kokichi, it’s… it's me—”

“Give it a rest, ‘kay?” Kokichi sighed. “I’m sick of being yanked around. On balance, you pretending to care about us was more convincing. It was you, wasn’t it,” he added, not so much a question as a prompt to speak.

Shuichi pulled away, leaning his elbows on his knees. He seemed to struggle for words, shading his eyes with one hand—then reached up to his hair and _pulled it off,_ revealing the long, blue-tinted curls underneath. “Okay. Okay, you win.”

“You can’t lie to a liar.” Kokichi picked idly at a loose thread in the blanket. “But you’ve done your fair share of that, I guess. You here to finish me off?”

_“No,”_ Tsumugi burst out. Then, quieter, “I-I just…. I just want to explain.”

“Explain what? The betraying-everyone’s-trust part or the making-the-killing-game-in-the-first-place part? Oh, or maybe the whole bringing-me-back-to-life thing?” Kokichi rolled his eyes. _“Come on._ You say ‘explain’ as if there’s some grand reason for it all beyond sadism.”

“They did something to me, Kokichi. Before the game even started. They put something in my head that—”

“You’re sick and I don’t care about your excuses.”

“I’m not—! It’s what they _do._ If they need a new mastermind, or a murder, o-or if someone isn’t interesting enough, they…. They did it with Kiyo, too, and even you—they wanted to use your paranoia to make you—”

“Get out.”

She stood up, slowly, wringing her hands. “If you want me to leave, I will, but… I just figured you’d want to hear the whole story from me instead of a bunch of doctors. Please, Kokichi. I won’t lie anymore.”

Kokichi didn’t turn to meet her eyes. His fingers clenched in the blanket. “Come back when you don't look like him.”

Tsumugi opened her mouth to say…something, anything, but paused when no sound seemed to want to come out. She’d been there when Kokichi’s core personality had been programmed—she knew the way he was destined to feel about his detective. Cosplaying as Shuichi had been the only way she could think of to stop that gut-wrenching screaming and begging for death—but in hindsight, it seemed like an insult to assume Kokichi wouldn’t know the difference in a heartbeat.

So she just nodded and left, quietly closing the door behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s probably obvious that I enjoyed this too much huh


End file.
